


Poisoned Arrow

by LadyWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Whump, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Poison, Worried Aziraphale, arrow wounds, caring Aziraphale, gen - Freeform, sick crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23905930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: In the heat of battle, Crowley takes an arrow protecting Aziraphale. Unfortunately, it turns out that it's poisoned and the only antidote is not readily at hand. Will Aziraphale be able to get it in time to save his friend? Crowley whump, gen
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 174
Collections: My faves - Good Omens Whump





	Poisoned Arrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kncdr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kncdr/gifts).



> This is for Kncdr I hope you enjoy it! ^_^
> 
> A little backstory for Crowley and Aziraphale set during the Hundred Years' War

Humans could be honestly ridiculous at times.

Crowley decided this was an understatement as he stood in the mud on yet another battlefield, in yet another scuffle during the horrifically long war that had been taking place between England and France for decades now.

If it was up to him, he would say it was far past time to give it up. Even a plague hadn't stopped them.

"I don't even see why we have to be here," Crowley muttered to the angel who stood beside him, wearing armor and tabard like Crowley, but somehow, his had managed to stay out of the mud—Crowley suspected a small miracle.

"Frankly, I'm wondering myself," Aziraphale sighed and looked up, seeing it was starting to rain again. It rained an awful lot in France and Crowley hated that even more. He shivered.

"I wish there was something one of us could do to stop it, but both of our sides seem to be okay with this," Aziraphale continued.

"Yeah, but that's probably because they're not down here in the thick of it," Crowley grumbled.

A shout came from nearby and Crowley sighed, seeing that it looked like the French were starting to regroup. It would be battle again soon.

"Come on, angel, let's just try to survive it."

They hurried with the rest of the soldiers to take position. Crowley really had no idea what they were doing here. He just wanted to go…anywhere _but_ here.

Most of the knights and English soldiers were already in the thick of it, the sounds of battle grated on Crowley's nerves.

But there was something prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. Something familiar.

He glanced around, suddenly alert, and saw a dark knight riding a horse in their direction with a distinctly demonic presence.

"Aziraphale," Crowley called hurriedly. He had no idea who it was behind that armor but he was sure this would end badly, and he didn't want his angelic friend anywhere near one of his co-workers.

The angel didn't seem to hear him over the din of battle, and Crowley watched in horror as the demon on horseback pulled out a bow and arrow and readied it, knocking the arrow and drawing it back.

"Angel!" Crowley cried, realizing the demon was aiming for Aziraphale's unprotected back.

He was already in motion by the time the arrow loosed from the string, leaping toward Aziraphale.

Crowley slammed into the angel at the same time something punched him in the side and both of them tumbled to the ground.

Crowley heard a snap as he rolled and agony tore through his middle.

"Gah!" he was unable to help crying out, flopping onto his back as he looked down in horror to see the broken off arrow shaft sticking out of his side.

"Crowley, what…?" Aziraphale began, scrambling up, before he saw the demon lying there, and a gasp burst from his throat. "Oh, Heavens above! Crowley!"

"A-angel," Crowley croaked, hands hovering over the wound.

"Easy, easy, don't touch it," Aziraphale said softly, reaching out to carefully grip Crowley's wrists. "Let's get you somewhere safe first, and I'll see what can be done."

Crowley keened in the back of his throat as Aziraphale simply slipped his arms under him and picked him up, hurrying from the field of battle. The shifting from the movement dug the arrow deeper and Crowley cried out, tears of agony squeezing from his eyes. Why did it hurt so bad? Something was wrong…

He heard the sound of tent flaps being cast aside and the rain was no longer hitting his face.

"There we go," Aziraphale murmured as he lowered Crowley down onto a cot, and hurried to light several lamps in the tent, then carefully and swiftly started to remove Crowley's armor, leaving him in just the blood-stained tunic.

Crowley shivered, one hand hovering above his stomach again.

"Let me look at it, don't try to touch it," Aziraphale chided and knelt beside the cot, reaching out to rip Crowley's tunic from around the arrow shaft. His brow furrowed in concentration.

"It didn't go through, so we're going to have to pull it out the same way it went in," he said grimly.

Crowley clenched his teeth. He'd seen thousands of arrows pulled out over the course of this war, and he wasn't looking forward to experiencing it. Especially a demonic arrow, which he was suspecting wasn't just an ordinary one, considering how bad he felt.

"Rather silly of you to do that," Aziraphale chided as he opened Crowley's tunic further to better see what he was doing.

Crowley grunted in question.

"Jumping in front of me like that," Aziraphale said and prodded the tender flesh, making Crowley curl up and whimper as the angel hushed him.

"Demonic arrow," Crowley panted. "Bad for angels."

"Bad for demons too, it seems," Aziraphale sighed and sat back on his heels. "Nothing for it, I suppose. We'll just have to get it out. Here." He swiftly undid Crowley's belt and placed it between the demon's teeth. "Bite down on this so you don't bite your tongue."

Crowley did as he was told, but still wasn't prepared for the pain that ripped through him as Aziraphale started to pull on the arrow.

"Oh my," Aziraphale breathed after several unproductive seconds of agony.

Crowley slumped back limply, eyes half closed. "Hmph?" he inquired weakly past the belt.

Aziraphale was wringing his hands. "I—I think it's barbed. It's not coming out."

Crowley suddenly thought about the armory in hell and all the weapons he never really used. Infernal arrows…yeah, they usually were pretty nasty looking. But that was, of course only to be expected from demons.

"I'm afraid…" Aziraphale shuddered, pressing his lips into a thin, determined line. "I think I'm going to have to cut it out, Crowley."

Crowley balked, reaching up to take the belt from his mouth. "But…There has to be another way to get it out…"

"Crowley, my dear, if I pull it out, it's only going to cause more damage. Even now, I'm afraid we'll have a difficult time closing the wound. I have a feeling your healing ability might be dampened because it's an arrow of demonic origin."

Crowley clenched his teeth, but slumped back on the cot, resigned. The arrow felt like it was burning a hole in his gut and he didn't really have another choice but to allow Aziraphale to do this.

"Fine," he sighed.

Aziraphale let out the breath he'd been holding, and got up to rummage through his things before he came back to the cot with a bowl of water and cloths, and a small penknife. Crowley gulped, reaching down to instinctively grip the sides of the cot.

"Let's get your tunic off," Aziraphale told him and helped ease the heavy fabric over the broken arrow shaft. Crowley shivered as the cool air hit his skin and swallowed hard as he could see the blood smeared across his stomach. He grabbed his belt again and bit down harder than before.

Aziraphale took up the knife and passed it through the flame on the lantern before he turned back, taking a steadying breath. "Okay. Just try and relax as much as possible."

Crowley shot him a glare at the stupid comment, but he lay back and closed his eyes, gripping the sides of the cot, not wanting to look at what Aziraphale was doing. There was a moment where he wondered at the idea that he was allowing an angel to stand over him with a knife, but he knew his friend wouldn't do anything to hurt him.

Not maliciously anyway.

He felt the angel press against the tender flesh and then felt the bite of the blade. Crowley tensed and let out a small whimper. But to Aziraphale's credit he was swift and accurate. Crowley felt the blood start to seep from the wound, hot against his side.

"Okay, now I just have to remove the arrow," Aziraphale told him.

Crowley grunted and held on tighter.

It didn't prepare him.

The arrow must have been stuck in his flesh, burrowed deep, because even with Aziraphale having used the knife, it was not coming out easily. Crowley screamed, teeth grinding against the leather belt in his teeth.

"Just a moment," Aziraphale whispered, pulling a little more firmly. "I'm sorry, dear, but I'm just going to have to do this…"

Tears slid from under Crowley's tightly shut eyes, and he choked on a sob of pain as he fought the urge to shove Aziraphale away or curl up against the agony tearing through him. He didn't think he had ever experienced something so bad.

"Ah, almost, there!" Aziraphale gasped in relief.

Crowley felt the arrow leave his flesh, arching his back with another scream of agony before he collapsed, barely conscious, onto the cot, panting in exhaustion.

Aziraphale pressed a cloth to the wound to stem the flow of blood and reached up to cup his face. "There we go, dear, all done now, just give me a few moments to stop the blood flow and then you can relax."

Crowley allowed him to pry the belt from his mouth and moaned, blinking the tears from his eyes. Aziraphale reached up to wipe some of them away.

He turned back to the wound and Crowley cracked his eyes open to see his expression. Aziraphale's face was pale and set.

"What?" Crowley whispered, cringing as Aziraphale pressed against his wound harder.

"The bleeding…the arrow seems to have done a lot of damage. I might…" he bit his lip. Crowley had a bad feeling. He knew what had to be done with wounds that could not stop bleeding.

"I might have to burn it closed," he finished.

Crowley clenched his jaw. "Do what you have to, angel," he finally said, trying to be brave for his friend's sake.

Aziraphale seemed to feel a little better because of that, and exhaled with a nod. "Right. Yes. Here, can you hold onto this for a moment?" he took Crowley's hand and pressed it to the cloth on his wound. Crowley felt sick pressing to keep his own blood in, the agony tearing through him the harder he did.

Aziraphale cleaned the blade and held it over the flame of the lantern again until it got red hot. Then he took a deep breath to steady himself and turned back to Crowley, holding the blade carefully.

"Ready?"

"No," the demon replied and replaced the belt in his mouth, gripping the cot again.

Aziraphale pulled the cloth aside and didn't waste time. He simply pressed the glowing blade against Crowley's wound.

Crowley barely had time to scream before the darkness simply took him, his body unable to endure any more pain at the moment.

_~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale felt sick_ as he pressed the hot knife to Crowley's wound. He could barely watch as the flesh seared closed, and the smell…The very human reaction of bile rising in his throat brought him back to his senses and he looked at the wound, seeing the bleeding had, thankfully, stopped.

Crowley was completely limp. Mercifully, he'd passed out almost instantly after Aziraphale had started to burn the wound shut. He sat back on his heels for a couple seconds, just breathing, trying to calm himself. Then he tossed the wretched knife into the bowl and grabbed a new cloth to clean the blood from Crowley's wound, before bandaging it.

Crowley was white as a sheet and shivering. Aziraphale swiftly finished tending his wound, then grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the cot and unfolded it, spreading it over the demon and tucking it around him to keep him as warm as possible.

He truly wished he had the ability to heal demons. Really, he didn't understand it. After all, if an angel chose to heal their enemy, was that not, in itself, an act of pure compassion? But maybe it was more a matter of physiology instead of moral. Demons and angels came from the same original stock, of course, but Hell had corrupted them into something else. And, of course, there was the fact that typically angels and demons didn't fraternize unless it was to, well, kill each other. Aziraphale was the only angel who could claim a demon as a _friend_. Either way, it pained him to see his friend suffering so much.

He really had no idea what he was going to do. He hoped that after a little rest, Crowley would simply heal himself. Aziraphale just hoped he would be able to do that when the injury was from a demonic arrow.

He gently dabbed the cold sweat from Crowley's brow and compulsively tucked in his blankets again. There was really nothing to do now, but wait and see what happened and hopefully Crowley would be able to heal soon.

But he didn't. Aziraphale sat with him for several long hours, and could only watch in growing worry as Crowley grew more restless, his face more pale and creased in pain as moans escaped his throat along with the pants from labored breathing. When Aziraphale reached out to feel his brow, he also realized that Crowley was getting a fever.

With his brow furrowed in worry, Aziraphale went to the healer's tent and grabbed some feverfew which he steeped in some hot water before he tried to rouse Crowley and get him to drink it.

"Please, dear, do try to drink this," he coaxed.

Crowley groaned, and tried to drink some of the tea. He choked, scrunching his nose up.

"It's hellish, angel," Crowley growled. "And I mean that in a bad way."

"You're fevered, it might help a little," Aziraphale insisted. He hoped anyway. It might not work on a supernatural being.

Crowley whimpered after the next drink and curled back onto the cot, eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh, I don't think it's that bad," Aziraphale sighed.

"No…" Crowley whispered, one arm wrapping around his middle. "Something's wrong, angel. The wound…"

Aziraphale felt his heart clench in his chest as he leaned closer. "Is it hurting very badly? Oh, let me see."

Crowley didn't even protest as Aziraphale pulled his blanket down, which was testament enough to how badly be must be hurting, though he did shiver in the sudden cool air. Aziraphale carefully pulled the bandages away from the wound, and was unable to help a gasp at what he saw.

"Oh…oh my," he breathed.

Crowley craned his neck and groaned. "Urg, I was afraid it might be poisoned."

Aziraphale shot a look at him. "Why didn't you say so before?"

"Little busy," Crowley grunted and clenched his teeth, his eyes shutting against an obvious wash of pain.

Aziraphale bit his lip as he studied the wound. It looked awful. The skin was red and inflamed around the burned puncture, but added to that were the veins of darkness spreading from the wound sending poison through Crowley's body.

"Do you know what it is? What it does?" _How long_ , he wanted to add but didn't want to distress Crowley more than he had to.

Crowley shook his head, swallowing convulsively. "Don't know. Nothin' good." He threw an arm over his eyes, shaking, before he groaned. "Mm, gon-gonna be sick."

Aziraphale was barely able to help Crowley into a sitting position before he began to vomit. Crowley retched up bile into the bowl Aziraphale had quickly grabbed, arms wrapped around his stomach as he whimpered in pain, Aziraphale's arm around his chest, supporting him.

"There, there," Aziraphale said soothingly, wiping Crowley's face and giving him a small sip of water. "Easy, now."

"Guh," Crowley gasped, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes as he tried to get his breath back. Aziraphale lowered him back onto the cot and tucked the blanket around him again.

"'Ngel," Crowley slurred, and Aziraphale looked down to see his golden eyes looking up at him with worry.

"What is it, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, settling a hand on his shoulder gently.

Crowley swallowed. "You should leave."

Aziraphale was taken aback. "Leave? Why ever would I do that, now of all times?"

Crowley clenched his jaw in obvious determination. "'cause, you can't be—be seen with me. That demon, he's still out there. There may be more. If they find you here, with me, they'll kill you. Worse than with a poisoned arrow." He looked away, blinking hard. "Don't even know if they saw me defend you. Didn't have time to think about it. Just…I…"

He closed his mouth and seemed to have said all he was going to. Aziraphale sat there, torn. On one hand, it would likely be very bad for both of them if either side found them together, but it wasn't like he was going to leave Crowley either, not when he was like this.

"If you think I'm leaving, you're incredibly silly," Aziraphale said firmly. "Now, is there anything I can do for this wound?"

Crowley shook his head. "I—I don't know."

"Very well then," Aziraphale said, and stood, reaching down to pat Crowley's hand gently. "I will go and talk to the doctor. You just rest. I'll see what I can find to draw the poison."

Crowley slumped back on the cot in seeming defeat and Aziraphale sighed as he left the tent, hands wringing in nervousness.

He really hoped he would be able to find something to help his friend. If he couldn't save Crowley he didn't know what he was going to do.

_~~~~~~~_

_Crowley waited until_ Aziraphale had been gone for a couple minutes before he pushed himself into an upright position. His head swam and his stomach ached, and he began to feel nauseous again, but he just closed his eyes and focused on breathing, trying to keep himself from passing out.

He carefully reached for his tunic and cloak and painfully struggled into them, wrapping the cloak around himself as he staggered to his feet.

He gasped in pain and his knees buckled. He ended up on all fours, fingers digging into the damp grass under him until the pain subsided and Crowley once again pushed himself upright with the aid of a small writing table that sat beside the cot.

He staggered out of the tent and dodged several knights as he looked around. He was worried, even now, that there were demons lurking among the ranks. Maybe other angels, too, who would find Aziraphale taking care of him. Neither option sat well with Crowley, and he certainly didn't want that demon to come back and try again for Aziraphale; if he hadn't already moved on, thinking the angel was dead.

No, it was best Crowley leave, go back to see if he could get into hell. They would have some sort of antidote. If he was really lucky, he wouldn't even have to tell anyone.

But he needed some way to get out of here, as he wasn't able to walk very well at the moment.

He spotted some horses then, tied to a water trough. Crowley bit his lip. He really didn't like horses. At all. But it was better than having to walk the whole way to…wherever he was planning on trying to get to.

He went to the horses as fast as he could, and untied one. It looked at him askance, but he simply hissed at it, before attempting to get into the saddle.

It was not an easy venture. Crowley nearly slipped twice, both times jarring his wound so badly it stole his breath. But he finally mounted the beast and lay slumped in the saddle, just catching his breath for a few moments before he urged it onward out of the camp.

He had no idea where he was going, but it was raining again, and muddy, and he was in so much pain. He almost turned back, but thinking of this same thing happening to Aziraphale kept him from doing so. No, it was best that he try to protect his only friend. And the only way he could do that in his current condition was to get away from him.

He could feel himself growing disoriented with the fever, and on top of that, the arrow wound felt like it was on fire, and it seemed to grow progressively harder to breathe.

He didn't know how long he traveled, until he simply couldn't stay upright on the horse anymore, slumping down against the beast's neck. And then, finally, sliding off all together.

Crowley hit the ground, knocking what breath he had left out of him. He curled up in the mud, shivering as he gasped in pain. The horse whinnied and stamped its feet before it left him lying there, probably heading back to the camp. Crowley didn't have the energy to call it back. He'd gotten away from the angel though, and that was all that mattered.

He somehow got to his hands and knees and crawled a few feet off the road to some bushes. He slumped underneath of them and wrapped his arms around himself, huddling under his cloak.

He felt like he was dying. Maybe he was. He couldn't even summon enough energy to care about it at that moment, though.

He closed his eyes and simply let the numbness of oblivion take him.

_~~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale hailed the_ healer as he was finishing up with making a poultice in preparation for the wounded soldiers who would be borne back from the field that day.

"Ah, Sir Aziraphale, can I help you?" he asked.

Aziraphale clutched his hands together. "I—er—a friend of mine was shot, but I think this arrow was poisoned. I pulled it out, but the wound is suppurating and I don't know what to do about it. I was hoping you might have some antidote or something to draw the poison."

The healer wiped his hands and started toward the tent exit. "I'll have to see what we're dealing with first. Show me to him."

Aziraphale led the healer back to his tent and drew aside the flaps.

Only to find that Crowley was gone.

He looked around frantically, trying to see if the demon had fallen off the cot, or tried to get up or something but he was nowhere to be found. "Crowley? Where on earth could he have gone?" Aziraphale demanded.

The healer pointed to the blanket half lying on the ground. "It looks like he left. Perhaps to answer a call of nature?"

"Crowley wouldn't—" Aziraphale stopped as he felt a pit forming in his stomach as he saw that Crowley's cloak was gone. "He was worried about something. Perhaps because of the fever," he added quickly. "He was talking about leaving but…oh, he was in no condition to leave!"

"Maybe he got a horse?" the healer suggested.

He and Aziraphale hurried out to where the horses were tied up, but Aziraphale had no idea if one was missing or not. He'd seen Crowley balk at horses before too, so why would he take one?

"I think he might still be in the camp, he really couldn't have gotten too far with his injuries."

The healer nodded. "I need to be back in my tent if anyone arrives, but I will send some of the squires to aid in the search."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said gratefully.

They searched the camp, but found no sign of Crowley. Aziraphale was getting more and more worried until one of the young men who was helping him look ran up.

"Sir Aziraphale, one of the horses just came back to camp with no rider. Do you think Crowley could have fallen off somewhere?"

It took only a few minutes for Aziraphale to get onto a horse himself along with two of the squires, and head down the road out of camp.

"Crowley!" he cried, though wasn't sure if the demon would—or even could—hear him.

He then saw a place in the road where horse hooves had churned the mud and he glanced to the side of the road where he could see the flash of red hair among the foliage.

"Oh, my," he breathed as he jumped off of the horse, nearly staggering to his knees, and pushing the bushes aside to unearth Crowley.

What he found stole his breath.

The demon was, if possible, even whiter than before except the two shockingly red marks of fever across his prominent cheekbones. It also seemed like he was struggling to breathe.

Aziraphale reached into the bushes and drew Crowley out, his body feeling frailer than it should, and burning from fever. The demon groaned and looked like he was going to try to pull away. His eyes slitted open and he blinked as he saw Aziraphale.

"N-no, 'ngel," he slurred. "Have to—hav'to go…"

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale said gently but firmly, brushing the wet strands of hair from Crowley's face. "I can handle any demons or angels that come knocking, but you are not going to try to run away. We're going back to camp and we're seeing what can be done about that wound. No more protests."

Crowley whimpered, but didn't seem to have the energy to do anything. He coughed, and his breath wheezed in his chest. Aziraphale didn't like the sound of it, and turned to the two squires who were watching. "Can you help me get him up on the horse with me?"

Soon Aziraphale was back on the horse with Crowley cradled in front of him. The demon slumped against his chest, head tipped back against his shoulder so that Aziraphale could clearly hear each wheeze as he breathed.

They couldn't get back to the camp quickly enough, but once they did, Aziraphale hurriedly carried Crowley into the tent and tucked him back into the cot after removing his soaked clothing, while the squires rushed to fetch the healer.

Crowley let out a moan and curled up, clutching his middle, face scrunched up in pain. Aziraphale squeezed his shoulder. "Easy, easy, my dear. We'll get it sorted soon."

The healer came in and looked shocked to see Crowley's condition. Aziraphale sat by Crowley's head, allowing the demon to clutch his hand as the doctor made his examination. He bit his lip as he saw Crowley's wound revealed again and realized that even in that short time, the black veins had spread.

"Do you know what can be done for him, doctor?" Aziraphale asked, almost hesitantly.

The healer sighed. "Well, this poison is a bad one. It's already attacking his lungs and will likely attack the other vital organs soon. That's why he's having trouble breathing."

The demon whimpered and Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand tighter. "But can you do anything?"

"There is a potion I believe would counter the effects of the poison, but unfortunately, I only have half the ingredients and the rest are hard to come by. I don't know if he would even have time for us to collect all of them."

Aziraphale drew his shoulders back and stood. "Give me the list of all we would need and I will procure it."

"But, sir," the healer protested, seeming taken aback. "I don't—"

"I will get the herbs," Aziraphale told him firmly. "I would never forgive myself if I didn't at least try. He's my friend." Crowley moaned and bit back a whimper, shifting on the bed. Aziraphale swallowed hard. "Please, give me the list."

The healer hurriedly turned to Aziraphale's desk and grabbed his quill, writing down everything they would need. He handed it to Aziraphale. "I hope you find it all in time."

Aziraphale nodded and turned to one of the squires who was still waiting nervously just outside the tent. "Alfred, please would you tend to Crowley while I'm gone? I will make sure the captain knows."

The young man nodded and hurried inside as the healer told him what he could do. Aziraphale pulled his cloak on and pulled the hood up, before kneeling beside Crowley and placing a hand on his brow. "I will be back, Crowley," he promised. "Just hold on for me."

Then he went out and saddled a horse, riding off as quickly as he could make the beast go.

_~~~~~~~_

_The search for the_ herbs took three days. Finding them normally would have been difficult but in the war-torn country, it was an even harder task.

But Aziraphale found all the items he needed and urged his horse back toward the English camp, making it swift with a miracle of his own, as he hoped with everything he had that Crowley would still be alive when he got back and that the poison hadn't discorporated him.

He swiftly handed off the horse to a page and grabbed his satchel of precious cargo before running through the camp toward his tent.

He burst through the flaps, startling the squire, Alfred, who was sitting on a low stool beside the cot.

"Sir Aziraphale! You've returned," the boy said gratefully, setting aside a cloth he had been wiping Crowley's brow with.

Aziraphale breathed a short sigh of relief to see Crowley was, indeed, still alive, but as he stepped closer, he realized that there wasn't much else that could be said about Crowley's condition.

Crowley wasn't just pale anymore, but grey. His face was so gaunt, Aziraphale could see the bones through his skin, and his breathing seemed to have gotten worse, hissing in labored gasps through bloodless lips.

"My dear boy," Aziraphale breathed as he fell to his knees beside the cot, placing a hand in the center of Crowley's chest. "Alfred, please go fetch the doctor."

The boy hurried out and Aziraphale stared at Crowley who suddenly choked on one pained breath, eyes flickering as he let out a wheezing cough.

Aziraphale didn't know what else to do, so he simply gathered his friend into his arms and held him against his chest.

"I'm here, dear," he whispered. I'm back, and you're going to be better soon, I promise."

Crowley moaned, blinking lazily, eyes glazed. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him more firmly and was shocked at the sensation of feeling every one of Crowley's bones. His body seemed to be wasting away. His prominent ribs heaved and shook with each breath and Aziraphale felt tears prick in his eyes.

"This was supposed to be me," he whispered as he cradled his friend gently. "Not you, Crowley. Oh, please my dear, you cannot die on me."

The healer hurried in with Alfred on his heels and Aziraphale nodded to the satchel without letting go of Crowley. "Everything is in there."  
The doctor made up the mixture, steeping the herbs in hot water.

"The poison has started to attack his organs," the healer told Aziraphale. "That's why he's struggling so much. But if this can stop the poison from spreading, then his body may be able to start healing itself."

Aziraphale swallowed hard as the healer poured off the tea from the herbs into a cup and handed it to him. "We'll have to get him to drink this, and the rest of the herbs we will use as a poultice to draw the poison from the wound."

Aziraphale nodded, and took the cup, propping Crowley higher against his shoulder and pressing it to his lips. "Now, listen, dear, drink this, and it will help."

Crowley groaned and shifted in his grasp but he was so weak, he could barely muster the strength to move. Aziraphale dribbled the tea between his lips a little at a time, and thankfully, Crowley seemed to be drinking it. He choked a couple times and Aziraphale held him while he coughed, fearing his ribs would simply crack from the pressure, but finally he got the tea into him.

"Good," the healer said, and crouched to pull Crowley's blanket aside, unwrapping the bandages from around his middle. "Now, I will have to open the wound again so that the poison can drain. Can you hold him? Alfred, grab his legs."

The boy nodded shakily and hurried to grab Crowley by the knees as Aziraphale wrapped his arms more firmly about the demon, holding his arms to his sides. Crowley whimpered even as the healer just brushed his wound and Aziraphale was horrified to find that the black veins had spread over most of Crowley's torso.

The healer spent no time in preparing, simply sterilized the knife in the lamp flame and turned to the wound, cutting across it swiftly.

Crowley cried out weakly and struggled against Aziraphale and Alfred. But he was so frail he didn't make it difficult for them to be able to hold him still. The healer grabbed the bowl of herbs, and pressed a glob of them into the wound, making Crowley groan again, then he wrapped fresh bandages loosely around the demon's waist.

"We'll change the poultice three times. If it doesn't work by then…" he trailed off with a shrug, but Aziraphale understood.

"Thank you for doing all you can," he said as he accepted a cloth Alfred handed him and wiped the clammy sweat from Crowley's brow before wrapping him tightly in blankets and settling him back down on the cot.

"I do hope it works," the healer said sincerely, settling a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Let me know if anything changes."

Aziraphale nodded gratefully and went back to making sure Crowley was as comfortable as possible. The demon's eyes opened a fraction again as he reached out and weakly took a hold of Aziraphale's tunic.

"Hurts, 'ngel," he croaked.

Aziraphale felt as if his heart was torn apart at the sound of Crowley's voice and stroked the demon's brow. "I know, dear, but you'll be better soon. Just hold on. For me."

"Don' leave," Crowley pleaded, his voice barely even a whisper.

Aziraphale smiled, taking hold of the hand clenched in his tunic and squeezing comfortingly. "I'm not going anywhere."

It was a rough night. Crowley's fever seemed to come back in full force, and he struggled weakly and seemed delirious for the most part. There was not much Aziraphale could do for him, except keep his brow cool as he piled on more blankets per the healer's instructions in order to sweat the poison out. It seemed this was a good thing, but it looked horribly uncomfortable.

But as he changed the poultice, it seemed as if some of the dark veins of poison had retreated, and the herbs had taken on a horrible scent. Aziraphale hoped this meant they were working.

By the second change, he definitely saw progress and Crowley's fever had also seemed to go down. Aziraphale knew he wasn't out of the woods yet, but he was getting better.

The morning of the second day, Aziraphale was dozing slightly and was surprised at the groan that came next to his ear.

"Mm, 'ngel?"

He shot up and saw Crowley's golden eyes peering at him, clouded with pain and fever, but no longer delirious.

"Oh, Crowley!" he exclaimed in relief. "How are you feeling?"

"Ngk," was Crowley's reply.

Aziraphale pulled his blankets down and pulled the bandages aside to see the wound. The black veins were all gone, and he cleaned up the final application of the poultice to check the wound. He breathed a sigh of relief. "It looks good."

Crowley was eyeing the wound himself. "What happened?"

He still looked gaunt, but Aziraphale was sure he would recover now. "The arrow, remember? It was poisoned and you were very silly and decided to try and leave camp to keep me safe from demons or some such."

Crowley groaned and thunked his head back on the pillow. "Didn't want you to get hurt," he murmured.

Aziraphale smiled. "Yes, I know, dear, and I appreciate it, but I never wished this on you."

"S'over now," Crowley murmured, eyes sliding shut. "Can I sleep?"

"Yes, dear boy, do rest," Aziraphale said gently as he tucked the blankets back around the demon.

Crowley slept for nearly two more days but by the third day he was actually looking better and was able to sit up and eat a little.

"I don't need to eat," he protested.

"But you were so ill; you're skin and bone," Aziraphale chided.

Crowley grumbled but did as he was asked.

Several more days later, Crowley was able to get up and about, and did finally look a lot better.

Only he had new orders.

"I've been called to go to a different location," he grumbled to the angel, then shrugged. "Well, maybe it's nicer than this one."

"Ah, what a coincidence," Aziraphale said. "I have too."

They were silent for a moment before the angel said. "How about I travel with you? At least until you can take all those bandages off."

"You just want to continue to mother-hen me to death," Crowley grumbled half-heartedly.

Aziraphale smiled. "You are still not entirely recovered," he chided. "You might need someone to help you on your journey."

Crowley shrugged. "I'm not stopping you, angel. Do what you want."

Aziraphale smiled again at the obvious acquiescence and went to saddle two horses.

Soon the two were riding off to their new destination, Aziraphale keeping a careful eye on his companion.

Thankfully, Crowley seemed to be all right, and Aziraphale said a silent prayer of thanks. He didn't mind that Crowley was a demon and he probably shouldn't be praying for him. He was just grateful for his friend being safe.

He looked up, and the sun finally peeked through the clouds. Aziraphale smiled and closed his eyes as he felt the warmth on his face. He had a feeling things would be better again soon.


End file.
